


The Nazgul Are Coming

by bluesailor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Book of the Damned, Episode: s10e21 Dark Dynasty, Family Feels, Gen, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesailor/pseuds/bluesailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A preemptive fix-it for 10.21, because the preview has me freaking out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nazgul Are Coming

Charlie’s phone buzzes against the motel room table. She glances at the screen, and hesitates for a moment before answering.

“What’s up, Winchester?” To her relief, her voice sounds normal, if a little breathless.

“Your Highness,” says Dean’s voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, where are you?”

If Dean’s calling from the bunker, Charlie isn’t that far away, but she can’t let him know that, so she just says, “Why? Missing me already?”

Dean huffs a little, clearly not in the mood for banter. “Listen,” he says. “Remember the Stein family?”

“The supernatural Du Ponts? Not likely to forget.”

“Well, a few of them have been out and about, looking for that damn Book of the Damned--which apparently _wasn’t_ destroyed like we thought.”

Charlie’s heart beats a little faster.

“How do you know?” she asks quickly.

“A little birdie told me. Point is, you need to get somewhere safe.”

“So, the Nazgul are coming, make for the village of Bree?”

 _“Yes,”_ Dean says emphatically, apparently too aggravated to scoff at her Tolkien reference.

 “You should know by now that I’m not going to run and hide,” Charlie tells him flatly.

 “Yeah, and look what happened last time you didn’t hide when I told you to--you got killed.”

“And _you_ brought me back--which you still haven’t explained to me, by the way.”

 Charlie can practically hear Dean rolling his eyes.

“All right,” he sighs in defeat. “But if anyone gives you trouble, you let me know. I’ll rip their lungs out.”

His tone as he says this is ugly, brutal, and she doesn’t like it.

“Usually thoracotomy isn’t necessary in boss battles,” she responds, in the most flippant manner she can muster. “You just gotta hit ‘em with the right weapon enough times.”

“Yeah, well, we already know bullets don’t work on these guys,” Dean mutters grimly. “Watch out for yourself, kiddo. Keep in touch.”

“Will do,” Charlie promises, and hangs up. A wave of guilt washes over her as she looks at the yellowed pages bearing rows of strange, spiky glyphs and diagrams spread out on the table before her. It’s the coda to the Book of the Damned, and sitting across from her is Sam, methodically taking pictures of each of the Book’s leaves.

“I don’t like lying to him,” she whispers. “ _Or_ all this sneaking around.”

Sam looks up, pausing in his work. “I don’t like it, either,” he says quietly. “But we don’t have time to wait for Dean to see it our way--we’ve got to do something _now._ ”

“Yeah, he does sound a little out of control,” says Charlie, chewing her lip. “He said if anyone came after me he’d rip their lungs out.”

To her surprise, Sam laughs. “Oh, he used to say that to me all the time when I was a kid and people were picking on me at school,” he chuckles. “He doesn’t mean it literally.” Then, abruptly, his smile fades. “At least, he never _used_ to….”

Charlie breaks the silence before it can get too morose. “Well, if we do have to sneak around, you should probably be getting back to that dungeon of yours before Dean starts wondering where you are.”

Sam seems to rouse himself from his thoughts with great effort. “Yeah,” he says. “Here--” he pushes the Book of the Damned across the table towards her. She shudders a little as she touches it--it’s old and creepy and _made of human skin_ and she can’t quite overcome her revulsion--but she flips it around to face her.

“I sent you all the pictures I’ve taken so far,” Sam says. “And here--” he plunks a canister of salt onto the table as well. “You’ll have to re-salt the door when I leave. And I’m leaving you a pack of Sharpies too, so you can draw more warding sigils if you have to. And get that Book back into the curse box as soon as you can, so it can’t draw the Steins here. Oh, and here, take this.” He hands her a thin dagger, tapered to a wicked point. “This worked pretty good on the last Stein we met.”

“All right,” says Charlie, taking the dagger carefully. “Got my defenses, got my vorpal blade. Got the Book, got the coda, got my computer. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Sam gives her a quick hug, but hesitates going out the door. “I hate to leave you here,” he says.

Charlie hates it too, but she knows he really does need to get back and keep an eye on Dean. “It’s fine,” she tells him. “I work better on my own, anyway.” It’s a lie, but she’s had plenty of practice lying to one Winchester already.

“Okay,” says Sam, not looking entirely convinced, but opening the door and stepping out into the evening.

The motel room has no windows--partly why they chose it as the place for Charlie to hole up and work on the book--and once Charlie has closed the door behind Sam, refreshed the salt line, and settled back at the table, she loses track of time. She settles into a rhythm, flipping one page of the Book at a time, taking a picture, flipping another page, taking a picture. When she’s done and has the Book and the coda on her computer in picture form, she’ll be able to write a program to help cross-reference the two, and hopefully-- _hopefully_ \--find something to help Dean. Preferably something that won’t also bring on the Ten Plagues.

Her muscles are stiff and her eyes are starting to hurt from staring at the computer screen too long by the time she photographs the last page of the Book. She’s just sending the file to herself when her phone buzzes again. This time it’s Sam.

“Hey, Sam,” she answers.

“Ch--lie.” The connection is bad; Sam’s voice is choppy and unintelligible.

“I can’t hear you,” she says. “What is it?”

“--ide the--k. Steins. Hear m--? Ch--?” crackles over the line, followed by the beep that signals a dropped call.

Charlie takes the phone from her ear, goosebumps prickling over her skin. She doesn’t know the details, but she did hear one word loud and clear--Steins--so it isn’t difficult to guess what the rest was about. She seizes the curse box from where it’s lying next to her bag on the floor, shoves the book and the coda hastily inside, and slams it shut. Then she pauses for a moment, listening intently, though she’s not sure what she expects to hear. Approaching footsteps? An evil wind stirring the trees? Horrible, screechy Ringwraith shrieks?

Nervously, she checks the salt line at the door, stares around at the sigils drawn on the wall. No angels or demons will be getting into this room, but the Steins are human--at least mostly. If they already know where she is, then the only thing between her and them is a deadbolt and a chain. She grabs the chair she’s been sitting on and wedges it under the door handle, careful not to disturb the salt line.

Before she can step back from the door, a car engine thrums in the parking lot, pulling in right in front of her room and shutting off. The car door slams. And there are the ominous, approaching footsteps she was listening for a moment ago. Charlie holds her breath.

“I know you’re in there, Little Miss Redhead,” a voice calls from outside, its southern drawl disturbingly loud in the silent room. Charlie stumbles back, pressing her hands over her mouth to stifle a squeak. “You’ve got something that belongs to me,” the voice continues. “You _haven’t_ got a way out. Now open up and hand over the Book.”

Well, if he wants the Book he’ll have to come and claim it, Charlie thinks. She seizes her computer from the table, switches it off, grabs up her bag, the curse box, and the dagger, and heaves everything into the tiny motel bathroom. She locks the door behind her, though she knows if Stein can get through the deadbolt, chain, and chair-under-the-door-handle out front, the flimsy bathroom door won’t present much of a barrier.

Right on cue, a loud pounding and rattling sounds from outside. Charlie jumps. By all accounts, letting the Steins get ahold of the book would be just about as bad as letting Sauron get ahold of the Ring, and it sounds as though that calamity is only minutes away. If only there was some way to get rid of the book, like Isildur dropping the Ring into the Anduin river, where it got swept away and buried for three thousand years.

“Sweet Lord of the Rings,” Charlie gasps, as an idea hits her. She might not be able to throw the book into the Anduin, but the next best thing is only a toilet flush away.

She drops to the floor and fumbles the curse box open. The Book and the coda come tumbling out. She deals with the coda first, ripping it to shreds and flushing them down the toilet. Then she attacks the Book, tearing feverishly at the nasty human-skin pages, throwing them into the toilet in handfuls, and praying that the plumbing isn’t about to clog.

Thankfully, the toilet swallows the last of the pages without a problem, although it does glug quite a bit in protest. Charlie throws the empty cover of the Book as far away from her as she can get it. She wishes she could have flushed that too--even without pages it’s still creepy.

Charlie doesn’t get much time to celebrate her victory. A crash from outside tells her that the motel room door has finally given way. She takes a deep breath and backs up against the wall, the hilt of Sam’s dagger gripped tight in her hand. It doesn’t feel much like a vorpal blade; it feels like a narrow strip of metal that isn’t going to do much against Stein, who is likely to be pissed at what she did to the Book.

The bathroom door bursts open, slamming back so hard it dents the wall. Stein is framed in the doorway, looking a little disheveled. And pissed.

“There you are, missy,” he hisses, and holds out a hand. “Now, enough hide-and-seek. The Book, please.”

“Sorry, I don’t have it. It’s in the sewer,” says Charlie, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the look of horror on his face as he spots the ravaged cover lying on the floor. “You can go looking for it if you want. In fact, be my guest. It’s where scumbags like you belong, anyway.”

Stein gives a wordless yell and lunges forward. Charlie holds up the dagger, ready. Before Stein can come any closer, though, a hand seizes him from behind and yanks him back. The next thing Charlie knows, he’s flying clear across the room, crashing into the opposite wall and sliding down to the floor.

Charlie peers at her rescuer. Dean. Her first impulse is to make some kind of joke-- _aren’t you kinda tall for a Stormtrooper?_ \--but then she catches sight of his face and the words choke in her throat. He looks more pissed than Charlie has ever seen him. Even more pissed than Stein.

“You okay, little sister?” he asks, not taking his eyes off Stein, who is groaning on the floor. His voice is rough, growling, dangerous, but Charlie feels somewhat reassured at the words. He seems in control. Mostly.

“I’m fine,” she tells him. He nods, and jerks his head toward the gaping front door.

Charlie doesn’t need telling twice. She grabs up her bag and computer and rushes from the room. She doesn’t want to be around for whatever Dean is going to do to Stein.

Sam is waiting outside, and she runs straight into his arms.

“You okay?” he asks, his hands brushing over her, checking for injuries. “God, Charlie, I’m so sorry--I should never have left--”

“Dean--” says Charlie, wincing as a series of thuds punctuated with yelps and howls issue from inside the motel. It sounds as though Dean is kicking Stein in the ribs.

Sam gives a hollow laugh. “Yeah, he wasn’t very happy when he found out you had the Book.”

“I told you lying to him was a bad idea.”

“And _I_ told _you_ we’ve got to do something,” says Sam. As though to illustrate his words, Stein’s yells suddenly choke off with a sickening gurgle, which tapers off into silence.

Dean comes out a moment later, stops and stands several feet away from them. There’s a bloody knife in his hand, and Charlie doesn’t like the look on his face. It’s hard and angry and sad and it makes her stomach clench.

“You didn’t actually rip his lungs out, did you?” she asks eventually, not sure if she wants to know the answer.

Dean glares at her, and she shrinks back in spite of herself. “I should have,” he growls. “Son of a bitch deserved it.” Then he turns his glare on Sam. “I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Sam, giving her the Book. Hell, I don’t know what you were thinking keeping it in the first place, after I told you--”

“I’m not giving up on it yet, Dean,” Sam says stubbornly. “It could be the only way to get rid of the Mark.”

“Yeah, and look what it already almost cost us!” Dean yells, gesturing to Charlie, but still not coming any closer to her and Sam.

“Well thankfully,” Charlie pipes up, “you’re not the one who gets to decide whether that particular cost is worth paying.”

Dean just shakes his head. Charlie hesitates a moment, then drops her stuff on the ground, draws herself up, and walks over to stand directly in front of him.

“Which it would be, by the way,” she says quietly, and he shakes his head again. He doesn’t look angry anymore, but he looks sadder than ever.

“It _would_ ,” she insists.

“What did you do with the Book?” he asks, obviously trying to change the subject.

She decides to let him. “Flushed it,” she replies cheerfully.

He looks faintly surprised. “Oh. Good.”

“It’s cool, though,” she continues, still in the same cheerful tone. “I have the whole thing saved to my computer. The coda, too.”

“Excuse me?” says Dean sharply, and Charlie sighs.

“Come on, Dean, at least the Steins won’t be coming after it anymore. I doubt their evil Book-wraith senses work on JPEG files.”

“That’s not--” Dean begins, but she cuts him off by throwing her arms around him. She waits until he returns the hug, and then pulls back to look at him, waits again until he meets her eyes.

“I love you,” she tells him firmly, hoping he can see the truth of it. Hoping he understands it as the explanation it is, for both her and Sam’s actions.

His lips twitch, and he gives her the response she’s waiting for-- _“I know”_ \-- but he still looks sadder and broodier than Han Solo ever did, even while he was getting frozen in carbonite.

Charlie pats his arm, and turns away. Sam’s already brought her stuff over to the Impala, and he’s now leaning on the hood, waiting. Their eyes meet as she approaches, and she gives him a nod to let him know she’s still with him. She’s going to help him save his brother, no matter what it takes.

Because, as it turns out, _his_ brother is _her_ brother, too.

 


End file.
